Show & Tell, Part I

What happens when your child's power surpasses your own?

I took a deep breath as I popped another capsule of pain reliever into my mouth. Tipping back the bottle of water, the capsule slid smoothly down my throat. Man, this job is atrocious. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, silently urging the drug to start working its magic. How ironic: mixing medical science with magic.

The thought made me open my eyes again, and the scene in front of me made me wish I had spent a little more time with them closed. I groaned, slightly louder than I had intended; a scoff sounded from behind me, and I turned to see one of the random parents glaring at me. As I opened my mouth to comment on the groan, one of the many obnoxious and uncontrollable children ran by me, spilling his cup of soda on my tuxedo. While still looking at the parent, the liquid soaking through the jacket and into the white shirt underneath, I groaned a little louder.

Glaring a moment longer then rising quickly from her chair, I saw the parent storm toward the host parents. "That man you hired is a downer to the party!" that particular parent would gripe and complain; the hosts, however, would merely shrug and run after the latest child to hang from their two-thousand-dollar chandelier.

As far as I was concerned, I was there for the money. Of course, it used to be for the entertainment of the children; but with all the advances in technology, as well as the growing sense of killing the illusion with "that can't happen"s, the entertainment portion of it became tired and not worth it. When children would flat-out tell me they didn't believe in what I did, how they could "see up my sleeve," my heart would slowly become less and less concerned with playing the part. Years had passed, and it grew into solely being about the money.

That being the case, why not go into some other kind of profession? Then, as I still do to this day, I had my reasons.

The primary reason was my daughter, Sarah. She was always the first person that came to mind whenever I had to make a decision. How would this affect Sarah? was automatically the first question asked in any and all situations. Being my pride and joy, the last thing I ever wanted to do was bring any kind of harm to her. The thought may seem overdramatic to some, but those some are more than likely not of the parental grouping.

I had been thinking about Sarah, that fateful day, when Jolly the Clown approached me with a cell phone. "It's for you, Danny," Jolly said, his red, foam nose bouncing as his make-up encrusted lips moved. "It's Sarah's school."

I took the phone and went into one of the fifteen spare bedrooms in the mansion. Ironically, none of the miscreant children attending the party had made their sugar-frenzied way into that particular room. Lifting the phone to my ear, I said, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was that of Miss Garland, my daughter's guidance counselor. Her sing-song voice carried over the phone and chimed into my ear. "Mister Lynn? This is Miss Garland, Sarah's guidance counselor."

I nodded, but remembered I was talking on the phone; not face-to-face. "Hi," I said, "is everything okay?"

I don't remember ever handing the phone back to Jolly the Clown, after Miss Garland had finished telling me why she had called. He looked at me and said, "Is everything okay?"

Looking at him, I noticed his face was drawn with worry: I must have had a look on my face. "Yeah," I told him. "I need to pick up Sarah from school. She's-" I couldn't think of what to say. "- not feeling well."

Jolly nodded, his curly green hair moving forward and backward in an exaggerated way. Understanding came to his face as he said, "Caught that stomach thing that's been going around lately?"

I blinked, making my way back into the present. "Probably. Must have caught something from me," my mind started to work again, "what with all these children I am constantly surrounded by."

"One of the hazards of the job," Jolly responded. "I was out for a week and a half, after that spell of chicken pox. Worst thing: I thought I'd already had it! Oh well."

He started to walk away, back into the midst of the crazy, uninhibited children. "Tell Sarah I said hi!" he called over his shoulder. "And I hope she gets to feeling better!" From somewhere on his person, something honked.

I waved, but I didn't think he saw it.

After a moment of blinking and shaking my head to clear it, I went into the mansion's foyer. My hat and coat had been stashed there, along with my bag. As I was placing one of my arms into the coat, the host father came storming into the foyer, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Where do you think you're going, pal?"

I put the other arm into the coat and adjusted it. "My daughter needs me at her school. I'm goin-"

"You're not going anywhere!" the father screamed at me.

It was one of those moments I would normally erase from memory: the image of the parent, mouth opening and closing, gobs of spittle shooting from all corners and always managing to fall somewhere on my person. However, this particular day was different. The father's face grew red, and I found myself not caring; Sarah needed me, and this rich parent could spoil his child some other way; with a clown, a petting zoo, one of those inflatable moon things, and some pop singer performing "Happy Birthday" off-key, they could afford to have the magician leave early.

"We paid you for six hours," the parent checked his watch. "And you've only been here for three and a half!"

I simply shrugged, leaning over to pick up my bag. When I stood back up, I said, "Take it up with the agency." With my hat placed firmly on my head, I walked to the door. "I'm gone."

Walking to the car, I muttered to myself; nonsense that nobody but myself - and sometimes not even myself - would understand. It was like that on the drive to Sarah's school; even so as I walked down the empty hallways. My recently-polished black shoes clicked on the tiled floors.

Miss Garland was sitting next to my daughter when I entered the main office waiting area. Sarah was holding a brown paper bag in her tiny hands. I looked at it and found that my mouth had gone completely dry. Oh, God... it's in there. I cleared my throat and walked up to the two of them. "Hey, Sweetie," I said, trying to sound calm and relaxed, but I wasn't even fooling myself.

"Miss Garland," I greeted the woman with a gentle handshake as she stood to greet me in turn.

"Mister Lynn," she said. "May I speak with you in my office, for a minute?"

I looked down at Sarah, trying not to look at the bag in her hands. "Are you going to be okay out here, Sweetheart?"

She grinned, wide and toothy, nodding excitedly. "Yep!" I smiled back at her and proceeded to follow Miss Garland into her office.

I sat in the seat she offered me, in front of her desk, while she sat in the one behind it. Leaning forward, she said to me: "Mister Lynn, I don't know how to begin..."

I remained quiet; I had learned, before my wife died, that in certain instances the best answer is the one that doesn't come at all.

"I understand what you do for a living," she said, "and I can appreciate how it helps you in raising your daughter. However," she sat back a little, as if suddenly uncomfortable, "I cannot tolerate that kind of business when it involves the students. Especially when they are only seven and eight years old."

I nodded. "I completely understand, Miss Garland. And I apologize profusely for the stir this incident has caused today. Honestly," my throat went dry again, "I didn't think it would cause this much trouble. Had I," I quickly inserted, as Miss Garland had started to respond, "I would not have allowed Sarah to do that for Show and Tell."

She blinked, and I worried that it wasn't going to be a quick conversation, after all. "Tell me, Mister Lynn: what made you think that kind of thing was acceptable? Especially in an elementary school?"

I had to think fast; I didn't like the way this conversation was heading. Too many questions, and things would be ruined. "I'm sorry. I thought the children would find it neat."

Miss Garland sat back in her chair, her face giving away how hard she was thinking. "Well, the kids did seem to enjoy it." She leaned forward, once more. "But, please, Mister Lynn: I don't want this kind of thing coming into this school again. I don't want to have parents on my back about it. These things have a tendency to be blown incredibly out of proportion... believe me."

I simply nodded.

Miss Garland stood from her chair and extended her hand. "Thank you, Mister Lynn, for coming in today. Sarah is a very smart, very special little girl. I don't want to see her get into any kind of trouble."

"Me neither," I said, shaking her hand in turn, realizing that my palm had become incredibly sweaty. "And thanks for being so understanding."

She nodded and sat back in her chair. I took that as a sign of dismissal, leaving the office and meeting Sarah back in the waiting room. I accidentally glanced at the brown bag and nearly yelped; however, I managed to keep a semblance of composure. "Let's go," I told her, taking her hand, leading her quickly from the school, and into the car.

On the drive home, we didn't really talk. Every now and then, Sarah would look in the rear-view mirror at me, from her place in the back, and ask, "Daddy? What's wrong?"

I would glance in the mirror and shake my head. "Nothing, Sweetie. I just need to get home, okay?"

She would grin, satisfied with my answer, and proceed to look out of her window. The brown paper bag sat in her lap.

As I pulled the car into the parking lot of our apartment building, I could feel my heart beating faster. Reality was pulling me out of my swirling thoughts, and as I parked the car in our normal space, I came to a few decisions. I looked in the mirror at Sarah. "Sarah. Sweetheart..." I started, "what's in the bag?"

Her bright green eyes shone lovingly in my direction and her grin widened even more. "It's Hippy, Daddy!" she said.

I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath. It was then that I realized the pain reliever hadn't done its job: the headache was coming back, this time with a vengeance. "Sweetie, we buried Hippy in the back last night. It was after dinner, remember?"

Her reflection nodded and the grin stayed. "I know," she looked down at the bag, "but I dug him up this morning. Before you woke up."

I coughed, trying to make sense of things. "But... but why, Sarah?"

Her head tilted to the side, as if to say Daddy is an idiot. "'Cause he didn't die."

I couldn't take it anymore: I turned away from her reflection and turned toward my actual daughter. My head craned around at an odd angle next to the headrest. "Sweetheart," I said, "Hippy got into a fight with Jaws-" I couldn't think of how else to put it. "- and lost."

Sarah tilted her head to the other side. "Daddy, Jaws is a mean kitty, and he only hurt Hippy." She lifted the bag. "Hippy's okay."

I didn't want to take the bag, but I knew I had to; this had to be resolved. I tried to make sense of it: Sarah was seven, not old enough to tell the differences in animals, except for their species. She knew Hippy was a frog, Jaws was a cat. Other than that, it was understandable how my seven-year-old daughter would think that some random frog could be Hippy.

With that thought in mind, I started to relax. I took the bag from her, making sure not to shake it too much, and turned back to a comfortable position in the front seat. The bag sat on my lap, and after a few minutes of chanting it's not Hippy it's not Hippy it's not Hippy, I opened the bag and gently tipped it toward my open palm.

The frog hopped out and sat perfectly still on my hand. It wasn't until it hopped around and looked at me when my heart jumped to the roof of my mouth: the frog's eyes were different colors. One green, one blue, both blinking slowly, bored with the human currently holding him.

"Daddy?" Sarah said from the back seat, though it sounded like she had spoken from miles away. "Are you okay?"

My mind was racing, but I could tell I was starting to upset her. I looked up at her in the rear-view mirror and put on a wide grin. "Of course, Sweetheart." I lifted my hand, playfully. "Looks like we have Hippy back!"

She laughed and clapped, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching forward to snatch Hippy from my open palm. I didn't even try to stop her. Sarah had the frog, and got out of the car, running toward the back of the building to put Hippy back in his bowl.

I leaned forward to put my head on the steering wheel. I couldn't think of an explanation, and the only one that came to me seemed terribly odd, yet at the same time not odd at all. I thought things had finally finished, after Laura had given birth to Sarah. However, it had now looked like I was on a whole other playing field.

I got out of the car, deciding that, once Sarah was in bed and asleep that night, I would call Jesse and Walter; maybe they would know what to do. I know I didn't. And even if they didn't, I knew I wouldn't be alone.

As I walked toward the apartment, reality finally struck. I felt something inside grow weak from the realization, and I sighed heavily.

My daughter had taken a dead frog to school for Show & Tell... and had brought it back to life.

Reviews

[G. Cedillo]

great use of suspension, letting those ending lines hit like a punchline (or a soft hammer of profundity, i am not really sure which at the moment) but it was great. good characters thru out, i really felt tense during the guidance counselor scene - (i for one didn't know seven and eight year-olds EVEN had guidance counselors! maybe that speaks to my bachelorhoodness or my apathy of school days, meh) great read!
=g=

[Susan S.]

In the first paragraph the line "Tipping back the bottle of water, the capsule slid down my throat." Since the capsule wasn't the one tipping back the water bottle, it shouldn't be the subject of the second part of the sentence. It would have read better as "Tipping back the bottle of water, I felt the capsule slide down my throat."

It's "scuff" (the sound a shoe makes) not "scoff" (expression of derision)

OK, that was all the negatives. There is really only one positive, but it's a biggie. I can always tell what's going to happen next in a story. The tells are everywhere. But with your story, I hadn't a clue beyond the thing in the bag could be a dead critter. You played your cards close to your vest and you won every round.

Really good job!
Susan

[Dave "Doc" Rogers]

Very good story, well written. You could really feel this guy's angst. I kept waiting for something else to happen, just something different. It didn't happen but a good story unfolded. Thanks UOW for the recommendation.

Cheers!
Doc.

[Lionel Braud]

a magician who does not have to resort to illusion and hand tricks but has actual powers. I guess i could see why he is in the profession. the birthday scene did not warrant the usual surprise but the descriptions were great. its the middle of the story is when it gets intriguing. I thought the girl did bring the frog back to life before I got to the end, but thats only because of the description that informed the reader before its read.

[Rainbow Rider]

Rivoting. I liked the way the story kept building to a point I couldn't guess until the very end. You have a nice way of building the intrigue and then twisting it just slightly to change the readers precieved outcome. I'll come visit and read more of your writings.

[Sunny]

Great. Can't wait for Part II.

If you have won a First Prize for a story please join the "Best of the Best Group" so you may have your stories reviewed more.

If you don't have a First Prize you may want to join my contest, "The Best of the Least Heard".

[Steven Silvey]

That's a cool ending. The whole time I was thinking she had done something really wrong. I don't understand why the counselor was so worried by this.
I wish I was at that show and tell. Magic has always been a fascination of mine.
Great story.

[Donald Meikle]

Now that's what's called an ending. That's also a great beginning and middle. The ending was not unexpected
just a nudge to shallow readers

[Kayla]

Reviewing for the UOW,
i really am glad that i had a chace to read this when otherwise i wouldnt. beautiful peice with nice flow and imagery. i found it really powerful on an emotional and intellectual level. really nice write!

[Ebby]

Reviewing for The Union Of Writers.

I am a poet, not really a prose writer, but I did get absorbed in your writing. I agree with Helen in saying that this has wonderful potential and an edit could leave you with a wonderful short story.
I loved such extracts as:

On the drive home, we didn't really talk. Every now and then, Sarah would look in the rear-view mirror at me, from her place in the back, and ask, "Daddy? What's wrong?"

I would glance in the mirror and shake my head. "Nothing, Sweetie. I just need to get home, okay?"

As a parent, I can see the naturalistic flow in this writing, and discourse is something with which I personally, struggle. You do it beautifully.

This is not something I would normally read, through my own faults, but the Union has encouraged me to stray further and I am very glad of this.

Kind regards,
Ebby.

[Helen Woodward]

Hi there, (reviewing for the union of writers)
Your story "Show & Tell" was a recommended read and I found it charming. I do agree to some extent with Magnolia...some things seemed obscure and I had trouble understanding your drift in places, but I figured that the "magic" element takes care of the way it played out. Your story certainly has merit! There are some punctuation errors that can easily be corrected by revision on your part. Your sense of parenting struck me as beautiful...the way the father's concern for his child was paramount. Please spend some time editing...it's worth the effort...